Shadows of Coldharbour
by Book-keeper96
Summary: It is the time of the Interregnum, and Tamriel is crumbling. Only one man has the sense to walk the fragile line between enemies and decipher the mystery of the Daedra before all is lost.
1. Journal Entry I

CHAPTER ONE

JOURNAL ENTRY I

My name is Rojack Arreth. I'm a Breton, born in Daggerfall, but you dare lump me in with those Daggerfall Covenant fools and you're headed for the Hall of the Dead, sunshine.

I never asked for this upheaval, and for as long as I can, I won't be playing a part in it. You can't help where you are born, but you can help who you are. Cyrodiil is a long way away from here, and I hold no truck with it, or the Imperials.

Many Nords, Dunmer and Argonians would cheerfully spit on my corpse, and I'm sure there are many of my kinsmen who would do the exact same to them.

You might read on, expecting some grandiose tale of legend; a fable that will stretch forwards for millennia and enlighten the souls of the people and stir the hopes that we have for tomorrow. The story of a noble adventurer, questing for glory, with fair and just kings at his side, trusted and mistrusted allies at his back, swooning maidens on his arm and the eyes of heartless evil at the tip of his blade. Well, no. That's not happening.

This is my story. This is the Interregnum, my friend. This is the part where the people divide, the anchors descend, brothers turn on brothers, and the concept of honour is just a figment of your imagination.


	2. The Escape

CHAPTER TWO

THE ESCAPE

"So who's this then?" asked the Nord, kicking the heavy iron cell door. Inside, the prisoner remained shrouded in darkness, offering no indication that he was there at all.

"Calls himself 'Rojack Arreth'" muttered the Dunmer, consulting the heavy clipboard and list he had in his hands. "Breton. Caught him sneaking over the western mountains in the Reach."

"Towards High Rock?"

"Away, actually."

"So he's a spy."

"That would be the most logical conclusion" said the Dunmer, fiddling with his list. "However, he hasn't said a word since we got him."

"So? You know the drill with spies, little elf. You drag him down to the dungeons and start branding his scrotum until he says something" snorted the Nord, chuckling. Again, if the  
occupier of the shadows in the cell heard a word of this, he gave no indication.

"We've got that scheduled for tomorrow, actually" hissed the Dunmer indignantly, angry about the 'little elf' insult that the half-brained Nords seemed to be so fond of. The kitchen slaves in the Telvanni high tower could come up with better put-downs that that in a heartbeat.

"Get the lizards to give him his meal then" said the Nord, kicking the cell door again. "Hey, Arreth. I'd start choking my chicken for a while if I were you, 'cause I don't think you're going to have much chance after tomorrow."

Laughing, he wandered off.

Inside, Rojack finally stirred. He stood up, stretched, and shook himself awake. He was going to need every function of his body at its peak for what he was planning.

There was a guard patrol coming past his door, and he listened in the shadows. When casual, they appeared to be slow and conversational, far more interested in themselves than guarding their prisoners. Their hands were kept away from their swords, helmets appeared to be askew – nearly everything pointed towards easily-exploitable disorganisation.

Rojack stood beside his cell door, waiting for the guards to pass by before banging hard on the bars with his foot. The effect was immediate as the two soldiers snapped to attention, staring at his door.

"What's with the racket, Daggerfall scum?" muttered one of them, squaring up to the door and looking around for him. Like lightning, Rojack whipped away from the wall and lashed out with his fists, catching the guard full in the face.

"Argh! You- I'll kill-" snarled the guard, swinging for Rojack in retaliation. The Breton stepped away the instant his own punch had connected, so the Nord guard's fist only passed through empty air. This enraged the guard even more, as he scrambled for the keys on his belt.

"You're going to die, you – ACK!" choked the guard as he threw open the door. The flat of Rojack's hand came flying seemingly out of nowhere, chopping him in the throat and making him double over, unable to breathe.

The second guard charged through the cell door just as Rojack pulled the suffocating guard's sword out from the sheath and struck, his mace smashing into the stone wall where the Breton had been seconds ago. Rojack returned the blow, slashing him across the arm. The guard bellowed and dropped his mace, and couldn't shout to raise the alarm as Rojack impaled him through the chest.

The other guard was a quick kill, and now Rojack was on his own for a few moments. He rooted around for the guard's keys before stumbling out of his cell into the guard barracks.

"GUARDS! GUARDS!"

The Dunmer who had been holding the clipboard and list was racing towards him, bellowing for reinforcements. With his escape plan royally fucked, Rojack took off towards the exit, bowling out into the cold of Dawnstar.

The cell had been freezing, but the chill of the snowy night still hit him like a brick. Rojack ran, his heavy breathing creating a sheen of mist in front of his face, around the edge of the town towards the docks and the path into mainland Skyrim.

"GET HIM! STOP HIM!"

That bloody Dunmer was still screaming for blood, and as the first guard took notice and drew his weapon, Rojack acted instantly, slashing him across the chest, spinning around the guard and impaling the unfortunate Nord in the back.

Two other guards – this time a Nord and an Argonian – were sprinting towards him, one with a large steel axe and the other with a spear. The Argonian jabbed first, thrusting at Rojack with his weapon while the Breton dodged and tried to avoid it. The Nord lunged at him, axed raised, and Rojack sidestepped, slashing him across the stomach with one hand and grabbing the spear shaft with the other.

As the Nord fell to the ground, holding in his guts, Rojack wrenched the spear forward, offsetting the Argonian's balance somewhat. The lizard stumbled forward and Rojack seized his chance, pushing forward and ramming his sword into the guard's open mouth. The blade pierced the back of his throat and emerged out the other side, and the shocked Argonian dropped lifeless to the floor.

Leaving the sword behind, Rojack sprinted for the path out of the town, where just one single guard blocked his way. With a roar, the first truly audible sound that he'd made since his arrest, Rojack seized his weapon wrist, spun around until the guard was pressed into his back, and heaved, pulling the guard over his shoulders in an extremely impressive feat of strength. The man crumpled to the snow, howling, as Rojack tore off into the snowy wilderness, the rage of a bested town echoing at his heels. 


	3. The Descent

CHAPTER THREE

THE DESCENT

It was almost a week later that Rojack finally managed to get as far south as the southern reaches of Whiterun Hold, after nearly dying of a horrific combination of exhaustion, exposure, hunger, dehydration and the various hostile wild animals that the land of Skyrim harboured. It had gotten slightly easier once he'd gotten away from the snow-caked tundra of The Pale and into the warmer plains of Whiterun, but it was still hard – wolves had still looked at him as a tasty treat, and if he hadn't found that dead hunter with the padded warm clothes and the spear, he would have died at least three miles back.

It had taken a heavy toll on his body, but at last Rojack could see a small village nestled in the valley below him. If his memory of the map of Skyrim that he'd seen back in High Rock was correct, he must be nearing Falkreath Hold now. Or was it Morthal? He couldn't remember.

Descending with only just enough care to stop himself slipping and falling to his death, Rojack barrelled down the rocky slope towards the village. He knew in his heart that the Nord villagers would instantly band against him when they recognised a Breton, but he was close to giving up. Hungry, thirsty, exhausted and out of options, Rojack was willing to either persuade – or sign his own death warrant.

The village looked cosy – a small pier led out onto a river where a fisherman was busy with his rod and line; a lumber mill stood silent, waiting for its payload; an inn sat on the corner, its door flapping in the wind as people entered and exited; a smelter belched smoke into the sky next to the dark mouth of a mine, and two small rows of houses completed the quaint look of the place.

The fisherman was first to spot him. "Hello there!"

With a sinking feeling, Rojack lowered his hood and carried on towards the town. The fisherman pulled in a single fish, sighed and stood up, walking towards him.

"You okay there, friend? I- "

He stopped dead.

"You're a Breton. A lousy, bastard Breton!"

The fisherman immediately lunged for the large knife on his belt, and Rojack immediately brought the spear up horizontally to his body in a defensive position.

"Wait! Wait!" he shouted, and the murderous Nord stopped, toying with his knife. "I'm not here to fight. I'm not here to spy. I just want some shelter."

"Fuck off, you High Rock scum" hissed the fisherman, charging at him again. Rojack sidestepped and brought the spear up, shoving the Nord away. "I've known good men die fighting against your bloody kind!"

"I didn't kill them!" protested Rojack, dodging the knife again and batting away the fisherman with the blunt end of the spear. "Please! Just listen to me!"

"WHY?!" roared the other man, leaping at him, blade outstretched. Rojack threw himself sideways, rolling in the dirt as the man stabbed the air where he had been standing seconds before. "FUCKING WHY?!"

"Because I'm not here to fight!" gasped Rojack, trying to get up as the fisherman kicked him in the ribs. His abused body wasn't going to take much more.

"Wait!"

It was a female voice – Nord, definitely, as the fisherman immediately stopped and turned around. Rojack rolled over, spitting blood into the dirt.

"Anders, who is he?" asked the woman, gesturing towards Rojack.

"A fucking Breton spy, that's who he is!" spat Anders the fisherman, kicking Rojack again.

"Let him speak!" growled the woman. More people were beginning to gather around the commotion, emerging from the inn or the mine.

"I'm… not a spy…" huffed Rojack with difficulty, sitting up. "Escaped… Daggerfall… Captured…"

And with that, the boy passed out.

"Wait until he wakes up!"

"Why? Why are we doing this?"

"To give him a chance to explain!"

"He's a spy! He'll be full of lies!"

"Spies don't wander into villages half-dead and get beaten up by the populace! Wait until he wakes up and we can question him properly."

"Yeah… Question his neck with a large axe, I hope."

This cacophony of arguing voices echoed in Rojack's ears as he began to come around. Blearily, he tried moving his wrists, only to find that they were very securely tied to something.

"Well, shit" he muttered, causing the people doing the arguing to turn around and look at him.

"Well, look who's awake" snarled Anders, leaning over him. "Betrid here wants to hear you out, and you're damn lucky that she does, because I want your head on a fucking pike right now."

"Look, I'm not a spy! I escaped High Rock because the Daggerfall Covenant insisted that I enlist. I refused and they arrested me. Chucked me into that hell-hole iron mining camp with the other objectors. Well, I soon showed them that giving me something that even passed for a weapon was a bad idea" groaned Rojack, trying to sit up.

"What did you do?" asked Betrid nervously.

"I broke out using two pickaxes and a couple of shivs. A bucket of hot melted iron helps as well, especially when you throw it at people."

At the mention of this, Rojack's lower body spasmed, his legs clattering across the table.

"What's wrong?" asked Betrid again, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

"Sorry" muttered Rojack, grimacing. "I don't like talking about the escape… The guards screamed when I threw that iron over them. By the gods, did they scream…"

Rojack's leg jerked again, and he began to shiver uncontrollably.

"Killing people – bad people – isn't so bad for me. But causing pain… horrible pain… I can't stand it. It's why I broke out."

"And you expect us to just welcome you?" sneered Anders.

"No" said Rojack, trying again to sit up. "I'm willing to work for my keep, honestly. I just want to get out of the Covenant's grasp."

Betrid sighed. "I'll untie you. Come on."

"Betrid, what are you doing?!" said Anders, quickly drawing his knife again.

"For Shor's fucking sake, Anders, he's not a threat to anyone" growled Betrid, cutting the ropes around Rojack's wrists. "He looks and acts like an emaciated refugee. What spy ever tried those tactics?"

Several days later, despite having the suspicions of most of the villagers hanging around his neck like a millstone, Rojack was beginning to prove himself. The mine owner paid him less per kilogram of iron ore than the Nord miners, but it was still something, and by midday, he'd usually earned himself a good pocketful of coin.

After midday, he'd walk over to the woodcutting area and hack away at a tree he'd marked out. To the surprise of the beefy Nords, who couldn't believe that a tiny Breton could pack such strength, the tree fell after a few days, and the mill owner paid handsomely.

Finally, as the sun began to set and the miners and woodcutters retired to their homes for the night, Rojack would trot over to the inn, pay up his 15 gold for a hot meal and a room for the night, and relax with a net profit of roughly 5 gold a day. All in all, life was getting better. Some of the people were beginning to trust him more.

It was only a matter of time before the powers that be would decide to turn everything into shit.

It was a few days later, just after Rojack had come out of the mine. The sun was shining, the coin in his pocket was clanking, and that tree he'd been cutting for two days looked ready to topple. He was just heading over there when the first scream alerted him.

"Look!" cried the daughter of one of the mine workers, pointing upwards at the sun. A small dark dot had appeared on the surface, growing larger all the time, until the sun was entirely blotted out, shrouding the land in a reddish-brown darkness.

"What in Oblivion is this?" asked Anders, his eyes wide.

High above them, a dark hole had appeared in the sky; a purplish orb containing an opening of utter black. Something shifted inside the darkness, and suddenly, long dark hooks and chains shot from the opening, as if thrown by an enormous hand. The landing site of these hooks was not within sight of the villagers, although one did land in the forest, relatively close to the village.

"Do you feel that?" asked Rojack, instantly alert.

"Feel what?" asked Betrid.

Rojack immediately crouched down, touching his fingertips to the earth. "That shaking. It's very faint, but I can feel it."

"Me too" muttered Anders, touching the ground. "What the fuck are we going to do?" 


	4. Grappling with the Guardian

CHAPTER FOUR

GRAPPLING WITH THE GUARDIAN

Taking up his pickaxe, Rojack ran towards the chain that rose out of the forest like an evil pillar, briefly trying and failing to get up the slope. After a few shocked seconds, the villagers nervously began to follow him.

After a few minutes, the villagers were huffing and puffing with the uphill effort needed to get to the chain, yet Rojack barely seemed bothered.

"No wonder he's able to work so fast" huffed Jan, one of the miners.

"Tell me about it" hissed Anders, panting and wheezing. "The guy never seems to tire."

Meanwhile, Rojack was powering up a flatter stretch of the forest, moving steadily towards the chain. As he came closer, the vibrations in the earth that he had felt before in the village were getting slightly stronger, and the crunch of pine needles under his feet became louder and louder.

Rojack stopped, looking around attentively. Yes, his suspicions were coming true – the trees appeared to be shedding their foliage frighteningly quickly. In fact, the trees themselves were beginning to look a bit worse for wear, almost as if they were dying-

And Rojack immediately ran ahead, cursing his slow idiocy. That chain, that hook, whatever it was, was poisoning the land, and quickly. It sure as Oblivion wasn't natural.

The vibrations in the ground were increasing to a steady thrum as the clearing where the hook had landed finally came into view. Using a rapid-to-slow breathing technique he'd been taught by another prisoner in exchange for a pipe full of weed while at the Daggerfall Covenant dissenter's camp, Rojack calmed his burning lungs and carried on.

The hook was a ghastly sight – a lethal-looking mass of spikes and barbs resembling a torture device, which dug into the earth almost gleefully. Actually, the more he looked at it, the more Rojack felt he understood. This hook wasn't just a device sent by some malevolent entity, it was a sentient, sadistic creature, brutalizing the ground and gaining a feeling of pleasure from it. The thrumming almost seemed like the tormented cries of the planet itself as it tried to force this abomination from its skin.

The rest of the villagers had begun to arrive, starting with Anders and Jan.

"What is that thing?" asked the fisherman, pointing at the hook, fear etched into the lines of his face.

"No idea" muttered Rojack, cautiously approaching the evil construct.

There were a few murmurs from the increasingly large crowd, and Rojack's heart sank when the accusations began to fly.

"It'll be his lot that sent it!"

"Send it back, you lousy Breton bastard!"

"Piss off, and take your bloody hook with you!"

Steeling himself, Rojack leant forward, and with just the tips of his fingers, touched the chain.

It was colder than the snows at the top of the mountains. It felt colder than space. Colder than the void. Rojack immediately lost circulation in his left hand for a few moments, after only the briefest touch.

"Get out of here!" bellowed Anders, angrily gesturing into the wilderness. "No-one wants you! Fuck off!"

Something was coming, Rojack could feel it. "Get back! Get back!" he bellowed, shooing the villagers away.

"And why should we-" began Anders, before he was cut short.

Something plummeted from the sky. Something big.

A man-sized figure crashed into the ground in front of Rojack, and before the Breton knew what was happening, he was sent hurling backwards by a fist that felt like it was made of boulders. However, as he landed heavily on the dirt ground, Rojack flipped, positioning himself onto his feet again.

The creature in front of him made him want to just lie down again. It was clad in huge plates of spiked black armour, with sinister glowing red lines running through it. It had a similar appearance to the chain that the creature stood in front of.

By far the most sinister, though, was the being inside the armour. Standing at 7 feet tall, its face shone with a bright red hue, small, wicked-looking horns jutted through its forehead, and its coal-black eyes glinted with murderous rage.

And to finish this vision of doom, it unsheathed a short blade from its back.

"Mortals!" it bellowed in a deep, guttural voice. "Who dares challenge me?!"

All in all, the villagers were doing a good job trying not to shout and scream in terror, but they were tipping that way. Gritting his teeth, Rojack stepped forward.

"Begone, beast!" he shouted, gesturing to the sky. "You have no place in Tamriel!"

The creature roared uproariously. "A challenger is near!"

And with those last four words, he charged at Rojack.

The boy just managed to dive sideways in time to avoid the single sweep that would have taken his head off, and retaliated with a swift kick. This was not the greatest ploy, as his ankle caught on one of the sharp edges, leaving a gory scratch up his leg. The monster, however, wasn't even phased.

"Give me a real fight!" it bellowed, raising the sword.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Rojack hurled his pickaxe at the creature, catching it above the eye. A growl of pain and a small flash of blood was what he'd hoped for, and that's what he got.

As the man-thing tried to straighten up, swiping at its cut forehead, Rojack employed an old schoolboy tactic he'd been quite fond of in his childhood. He rushed the creature, placing a hand on its shoulder and abdomen, and pushed hard. It wasn't much, but it sent the creature reeling backwards and down the forest slope, shrieking and cursing all the way.

"Go! GO!" shouted Rojack to the villagers, who were still clustered around the edge of the clearing. That monster would be back quickly, and they needed to be out of harm's way.  
The creature struggled back into the clearing, watching Rojack with pure hatred. "You dare wound a Daedra?!" it bellowed.

And again, Rojack cursed himself for not understanding. The darkened sky, the chains, the creature sent to guard them… It could only have been Daedric in nature.

This time, the guardian lunged for him, sword extended, and Rojack couldn't dive out of the way fast enough. The sword just nicked the back of his calf, but the pain was extraordinary. He dreaded to think what a proper wound from that thing would feel like.

The guardian lifted his blooded blade to his nose and sniffed, savouring the stench of iron and oxygen coming from Rojack's red life force. And with an angry howl, it launched itself at him again.

Ignoring the pain in his calf, Rojack rolled backwards and lashed out himself, punching the creature hard in the face. Without even being phased, it grabbed him by the front of his mining shirt and threw him, tearing the garment from the Breton's back.

Rojack landed on his feet on the other side of the clearing, exposing his muscular physique. Cracking his fingers, he beckoned the Daedra over to him.

"You dare try to lead me?!" bellowed the guardian, lunging for him again. This time, Rojack sidestepped and seized its arm and the collar of its armour, hoisted it into the air, and with a shout of effort, hurled it across the clearing in return. It crashed into the chain and roared, standing up immediately, eyes darting across the sky for a few moments.

"Well, you're a tough bastard, I'll give you that" muttered Rojack, picking up his pickaxe again. "I can't say I'm enjoying this, but you are interesting. Irritating, but interesting."

"Bah. Mortals" hissed the guardian, standing up with his blade in the air. "When my task is complete, my master will reward me richly. And you will be trapped forever."

"Who's your master?" asked Rojack, a small smile emerging on his face.

"AAARRGHH!" screamed the Daedra, realising he'd said too much. He lunged for Rojack a third time, and the Breton jumped, kicking off a tree and landing behind him. Seizing hold of both pauldrons on the armour, Rojack jerked the Daedra sideways again and threw him into the forest.

"Stop fighting the inevitable!" bellowed the guardian, almost frantically swiping at the air with his sword. He made one last lunging strike, holding the sword point-first like a rapier, and Rojack seized his chance, spinning around the weapon, grabbing the handle and backslamming the Daedra into a tree. Rojack jerked his head back once, viciously head-butting the guardian in the face, and finally wrestled the sword from his grip.

It was slightly heavier that he was expecting, but it would perform magnificently as Rojack slashed at the guardian's stomach area. There was a lot of resistance, but the blade actually began to pass through the armour, cutting the flesh underneath.

The Daedra screeched in agony, ramming his shoulder into Rojack and sending him flying backwards. The sword fell to the ground, and the guardian wasted no time in retrieving it.

"I will feast on your heart" it hissed, advancing on the boy.

Rojack shuffled backwards and stood up, rooting around for his pickaxe. The guardian ran at him, sword raised, and Rojack reacted with little grace – dropping to the floor and knocking the knees out from under it. The Daedra fell forward, banging its sword against the anchor.

"I don't care where you came from" began Rojack, grabbing the guardian by the ankle and twisting it, "but I'm sending you back there!"

With an almighty SNAP, the ankle broke, and the Daedric Guardian screamed in pain. He lashed out, catching Rojack in the chest again, and tried to stand up.

Grappling with the creature and yanking his sword arm around, Rojack punched him viciously in the slash he'd created on the stomach armour. The guardian fell back, slightly winded, and Rojack pressed on, backhanding him viciously across the face.

The Daedra roared, and Rojack took his last chance. Seizing the sword that hung limply in the exhausted guardian's hand, Rojack span around and cleft its head from its shoulders.

The head of the creature clattered to the floor, but Rojack wasted no time – his calf was throbbing and his strength was beginning to ebb. With one last cry of anger, he leapt forward and scythed through the chain holding the hook to the ground.

The chain instantly retracted and the hook in the ground crumbled to dust as deep, guttural laughing echoed from nowhere.

"Oh mortal, your battles do entertain me."

"Who are you?" asked Rojack, brandishing the sword and looking around.

"Do not think you can harm me, mortal, just because you have destroyed one of my anchors. I am Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, and I invite you to bend your knee."

"Piss off."

"Submit to me, and I will make you the greatest warrior this pitiful world has ever known. Entire continents will bow before you. Anything you wish for will be fulfilled. All you have to do, is bow before me."

"I stand by my first answer. Piss off, Molag."

"Very well, you fool. Know that I shall enjoy crushing you. Keep the sword. You will need it."

And with that, the voice fell silent and the dark shroud over the sun vanished.


	5. Journal Entry II

CHAPTER FIVE

JOURNAL ENTRY II

By the eight, if that battle was tough, the recovery was tougher. I might have won, but I got battered half to death by that Daedra. And Molag Bal now threatens me with more.

At least he deigned to leave me that sword. I can see it now, propped against the wall, the only thing I own apart from the clothes on my back. It's nearly as long as my back, but I'm a Breton; we're relatively short, at least compared to Nords. It's red, silver and black, with a wicked sharp single edge and a circular crossguard. It looks and feels like a mad, bad god took a lump of ebony, twisted it into the most sinister design imaginable, and then cut himself on it.

I'm in bed in the inn, feeling my calf twitch and ache as it heals. The innkeeper put me up for free after I brought the guardian's head back into town. I guess for all of five seconds, they thought I was a hero, before I passed out from exhaustion (again) and they thought I was just a puny milk-drinker, as they're quite fond of saying.

I keep thinking about the threats that Bal made after I killed that guardian, how he offered me unlimited power if I'd just agree to serve him. Now what'll happen? I've heard stories about different varieties of Daedra – Daedroth, Dremora, Atronachs, Spider Daedra – and I'm wondering just when my grace period will end, and I'll be set upon by all the monstrosities that Oblivion has to offer.

Oh, and someone managed to find me a book about Molag, and I've learned about all the horrors he patronises – domination, slavery, rape… and vampirism. Let's not forget that vampirism came from Molag Bal raping, killing and reanimating a virgin. Only a man with nothing – not even his own mind – left to lose dares defy the Lord of Domination.

Molag Bal offered me everything, and I spat in his face. Sheogorath has truly possessed me. 


End file.
